side, his poniard in his hand. With two or three quick cuts he freed me, and then shook me by the hand.

"It is all over with them," he said, with a smile. "You are safe now."

20

I

CHAPTER XXIII

THE AFTERMATH

MADE no answer to Lorgnac, but stood for a moment incapable of thought or action; hardly, indeed, realizing that I was free from my shameful bonds. Around me was a sea of faces, and I felt as if all eyes were upon me, although in the gloom one could scarce see a sword's point ahead. All that could be discerned was a confused crowd of shadows, with here and there the flash of a breastplate or the gleam of a steel cap, as they caught and reflected some lingering ray of light. The thronged room beyond was, however, in brightness. Some one had lit the lamps there, and from where I was leaning against the wall I could see an ever-changing crowd pressing round the spot where Condé stood. High words were passing, too, and there was a veiled threat in the Chancellor's voice, as, leaning his shaking limbs on his crutches, he turned on Achon in answer to some speech made by the bishop.

"Monsieur! There is no lieutenant-general of the kingdom now. That office died with the late King."

"And I demand Marcilly's release." It was Condé's voice that cut in, and Achon answered sullenly:

"You must ask for him from the Holy Office, and its hold is firm."

"But he shall be freed, or you, Monsieur of Arles, will answer for it." And now I could wait to hear no more. My scattered senses were recovering themselves. I could not linger until all knew my shame, and this they would know soon enough, for such things travel like lightning from mouth to mouth. Lorgnac was still near to me. He still believed me to be a man of honor. He would help me once more, and bending forward I said to him:

"Monsieur! Can you get me out of this? I-I must go."

He nodded and smiled. Then putting his arm through mine, he led me along the passage into the courtyard. None dared to hinder him. Even if they had dared, they could have done nothing, for everywhere around us were the Queen's guards. The gates, too, were no longer kept by the archers, but by grim-looking men in a strange uniform of sombre black.

"They are the gendarmes of Aunis," said Lorgnac, as we passed the gates. "And, now, adieu! I suppose I shall see you to-morrow at the palace, in the Prince's suite."

I took the hand he held out to me for a moment, and, muttering my thanks, turned hastily

and mingled with the crowd on the pavement, leaving Lorgnac staring after me in astonishment at my abrupt departure.

In a crowd one is soon lost, and in the uncertain light it would have required sharp eyes to have recognized me, as I threaded my way through the heaving throng. Not that I gave a thought to recapture. My mind was absorbed with one idea, and that was to put miles between me and the scene of my shame. For the moment I was tortured by neither remorse nor fear. I seemed dead to all sensations. All that I wanted was to quit Orleans.

Finally I reached a street that was still in quietness, and halted under a lamp set in the wall of a house above the image of the Virgin. I looked around me. There were but few people stirring here, but some shops were open, and one of these, almost opposite to me, was a place where I saw that I might renew my apparel to some extent, and perhaps get another sword. My purse was still with me, and it was heavy enough, for I was rich in the world's goods. I determined to act at once; so, crossing the road, I went into the shop and purchased what I wanted—a stout, serviceable sword and a good cloak. The shopkeeper tried to enter into converse with me about the events of the day, the death of the King, and other things, but I cut him short, and paying him his money, stepped out into the street. Once there, I walked on at a brisk pace toward the

city gates. No one attempted to stop me, and passing through, I gained the river shore, and looked out for a ferry-boat, but there was not one in sight. I stood for a little, straining my eyes into the night. The moonlight fell soft and clear on the long quay, and on the slow, creeping river before me. Behind me Behind me was the city, and the hum of voices joined themselves to the dreamy lapping of the Loire at my feet. On the opposite bank of the river, the night lights of a few boats were burning, and farther still twinkled a long chain of camp-fires, marking the spot where the Constable lay. Thrice I hailed a boatman, calling loudly, but there was no reply, and I heard nothing except the hum from the city behind, and the whisperings of the stream before me. Seeing at last it was useless to waste time here, I turned to the left, and followed the river face, hoping to come across a boat, but with no results. Finally I stopped again and looked around. Yes! There was no doubt of it. I was close to the spot where Caillaud had suffered his martyrdom, on the day of our entry into Orleans. The scaffold was still there, the stacks of wood, not completely used, near it, and perhaps the ashes of the fire were still warm. I stepped up to the scaffold, and, as I did so, a homeless dog rose from behind the wood, and with a quick, short bark at me, fled into the shivering night. From the distance I heard him howling, and my heart sank within me as I thought how even a